


Past is Present

by mmorgan317



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Malcolm Whump, Prompt: Accidentally Hurt By Friend, Slight Gil Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 19:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmorgan317/pseuds/mmorgan317
Summary: Malcolm has another night terror while at the precinct. This time it’s Gil who intercepts him and some of the cops aren’t pleased with the outcome. Angst. Malcolm Whump. Slight Gil Whump. Protective/Big Sister Dani.





	Past is Present

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: PG-13. Beyond the mention of blood from a wound, nothing is too graphic. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing of this show or writers. Honestly, they’re doing such a good job whumping Malcolm that I probably don’t have to, but it’s just so fun! 
> 
> Author’s Note(s): 
> 
> Written for my BadThingsHappenBingo Prompt: Accidentally Hurt By A Friend - I’m taking a general approach with this one because my whumpee does the hurting, but he’s also hurt in response, so which ever way you split it, it fits, lol
> 
> I’m going to add a trigger warning, just to be safe. There is a brief mention of self-harm, but it’s a misunderstanding and nothing actually happened.
> 
> Also, I'm SO pleasantly surprised that you guys liked my first fic, Mine, so much, you have no idea. Please try not to expect the same level of greatness in this one; I honestly don't know if it matches Mine, but I worry about letting you all down. 
> 
> M

_“Shhh, it’s all going to be okay.” Malcolm struggles as Dad lifts him, but it’s useless; he’s too small to fight back and they both know it._

_A brief flash like a scratch in a VHS tape and suddenly he’s standing in front of a young woman; she lies prone on the table, but her eyes stare at him with terror shining through. Malcolm feels his heart race, his right hand shaking as Dad places a long, curved knife into it. “You know what to do son.”_

_Another flash and it’s nothing but blackness and his father’s voice ringing in his ears, “We’re the same.”_

**oOo**

The first thing that greeted Gil when he walked into his office was a soft snore which emanated from the man lying on the sofa. Although Gil often called him kid, he was very aware of the fact that Malcolm Bright was a grown man. Sure, he didn’t tend to acknowledge it out loud, and yes sometimes the kid didn’t act like it, but Gil knew it. He was very proud of the man that Malcolm had become, a sentiment which Gil knew Jessica Whitly didn’t share.

Malcolm lay stretched out on the sofa, his feet hanging off the side since he still had his shoes on, and his blue, expensive-looking jacket draped over him. His face was relaxed, carefree almost, giving Gil a peek at what the kid might have looked like had things been wildly different. Then again, if things _had _been different, Gil wouldn’t know Malcolm and, as selfish as it seemed given what Malcolm had been through in his young life, Gil couldn’t find it in him to wish for that.

“No,” Malcolm mumbled, his body twitching in a way that told Gil his dreams were no longer peaceful. Still, Gil hesitated in waking him.

The light from the bullpen shone brightly over the kid’s face, highlighting a bruised lump on his forehead. A scratch lay at the center, the deep red standing out starkly against the paleness of Malcolm’s skin. There were other scratches as well, but they were harder to see since some were so thin they weren’t easily visible.

An accomplice of the killer’s had reacted badly when Malcolm had pointed out his role in everything, taking a ceramic vase of lilies and smashing it over the kid’s head before making a run for it. As far as distractions go, it was a good one, giving the guy just enough of a head start to get away. While Dani went to make sure Malcolm was okay, JT and Gil had gone after the attacker. By the time they’d surrendered to the head start and gone back, a bus was already there, a couple of EMTs and Dani escorting the kid into the back of it.

It did not reassure Gil to see that Malcolm was swaying while he walked, blood steadily streaming down the side of his face, but he’d refrained from checking in on him since he had work to do and he knew Powell could handle Malcolm. The kid hadn’t needed stitches for the cut, something which Gil hadn’t been sure of, so after being diagnosed with a Grade II concussion, Malcolm had checked himself out and had gone back to work. Gil had been strongly against it, but as he’d told Jessica - Malcom Bright does whatever Malcolm Bright wants to do. At least if he hung around the precinct Gil could keep an eye on him. 

“Don’t,” Malcolm said, this time with more force in his voice. The twitching started in earnest, his hands barely moving, but definitely looking as though he were struggling against something. Or someone. “Don’t make me,” he said, his head turning from side to side, his normal expression of distress back in place. “Please don’t make me do this.”

Knowing that this was more than just a nightmare, Gil now went to the kid. He’d barely reached him when Malcolm’s eyes shot open, fear making them go wide. “No!” he cried, staring at Gil like he was the devil himself. When Malcolm stood up with more defiance than Gil had ever seen, he knew the kid wasn’t really seeing him. Thinking it better to give the kid space, Gil slightly backed up, his hands up in a placating gesture. But the kid advanced, quickly closing the distance between them. His glare was impressive, but it was his voice which showed how he really felt as he said, “I will _never _be like you.”

Gil saw the punch coming, but not with enough time to block it and Malcolm’s fist slammed into his face with more force than Gil thought the kid had in him, the momentum knocking him to the floor. What happened next, Gil wasn’t entirely sure as his vision swam and his mind became disoriented. Of all the things he thought Malcolm would do, could do, hitting him hadn’t made the list. He’d read that people with night terrors could become violent, but Gil hadn’t actually believed it of Malcolm until this moment.

“LT, you okay?!” Detective Jorge Hernandez called as he ran in and helped Gil to his feet.

“Where’s Bright?” Gil asked, ignoring the question and wincing as he touched his left cheek.

“No!” Gil heard Malcolm cry, the distress in his voice moving Gil faster than anything else could have in that moment. Pushing Jorge out of the way, Gil left his office and went to the bullpen, freezing in the doorway long enough for him to take the scene in.

Two unis had Malcolm pinned to the floor while JT wrestled handcuffs onto him. The kid fought them at every turn, his expression showing nothing but pure fear as the cuffs locked in place. “No, please,” he begged, “Please, don’t.” He continued to struggle, straining his shoulders as he pulled on his arms and twisted his wrists in an effort to wriggle out of them. The two unis stood up, then leaned down, obviously preparing to haul Malcolm off to holding.

“Get those off of him!” Gil commanded before they touched the kid. He stayed back long enough for his orders to be followed, then he closed in, sitting on the floor in front of the profiler. “Bright. Hey. Bright,” he said, grabbing hold of the kid’s arms and helping him sit up. Moving his hands to Malcolm’s face, brushing strands of stray hair off the kid’s forehead as he did so, Gil continued, “Come on kid,” he moved his left hand from Malcolm’s face to his neck and gave it a squeeze, “come back to me.”

It took longer than he wanted for the wide-eyed fear to fade from Malcolm’s face, but when he noticed it slowly disappear, Gil pulled the kid in for a hug out of sheer relief. Surprise briefly flooded him when Malcolm clung on to him for dear life, squeezing so hard that actually hurt a little bit. 

Only when Malcolm’s breathing slowed, did the kid pull away from him. His brows wrinkling in confusion, he looked around at all the cops surrounding him, their hands near their guns, then up at Gil. “It happened again, didn’t it?” he asked with resignation in his voice.

“Yeah,” Gil said, offering a brief smile, wincing when his left cheek reminded him not to do that. “Come on,” he said, standing up and pulling the kid with him. “Let’s go back to my office. Get you looked at.”

Fear briefly filled Malcolm’s face before he forced it down, covering it with a mask of assurance. “I’m fine,” he said, his tone implying he didn’t need anyone checking on him. “I should probably go, actually.”

“No,” Gil objected, stopping him from uttering whatever excuse he was about to give for leaving. Closing his office door, Gil ignored the looks Malcolm was receiving from everyone in the bullpen and turned to face the younger man. “You did quite a number on yourself this time,” he looked down at Malcolm’s wrists to show what he meant, “and I’m not letting you run and hide at your loft without being sure that you’re okay.”

“Come on, Gil. We both know that I’m not okay,” Malcolm said, a smile on his face which gave some small credence to the dry humor in his voice. Even so, Malcolm looked down at his hands, his brows climbing as surprise pulled them towards his forehead. Red lines criss-crossed the outside of his wrists, shreds of skin showing where he’d wriggled so much that he’d torn past the first layer of dermis, and what appeared to be small amounts of bruising already taking place. It looked like it stung, but Malcolm showed no response after the initial surprise wore off. “It’s nothing,” he dismissed with a smile, putting his hands in his pockets then giving a small wince as he did so.

A knock on the door had the kid jumping like someone had yelled, “Boo!” Malcolm tried to cover his reaction by pivoting so that his back was no longer near the door but to the window instead, but the fear in Malcolm’s eyes would have been enough to tell anyone what had happened.

“Hey,” Dani greeted, her gaze going from Gil to Malcolm and then back to Gil. “You okay?”

Having experienced one of Malcolm’s night terrors before, Gil knew that she didn’t hold anything that just happened against the kid, but he also knew that she was protective of those she cared about and _that_ side was warring over which person to be more worried about - Gil or Malcolm.

Since Gil was essentially fine, he chose to focus on Bright. “We’re fine,” he assured.

Dani nodded, looking like she didn’t believe a word. “You want me to get him home?”

“‘Him’ is right here, and I can get home just fine on my own,” Malcolm answered, obviously objecting to being talked about like he wasn’t there.

Both Dani and Gil ignored him. “Yeah, and check on his wrists, if you don’t mind.” Gil flicked a look over at the kid. “He fought pretty hard against the handcuffs.”

“Wait, handcuffs?” Malcolm said, apparently not having made the connection earlier. “You guys handcuffed me?”

“JT did,” Dani answered.

“I bet that made his day,” Malcolm said caustically.

“Well you did punch Gil, so I think he thought you had it coming.”

“I what?” the kid looked at him, surprise on his face and guilt creeping into his eyes.

Unable to worry about any of that right now, Gil sighed. “Just get him home, alright?”

Malcolm opened his mouth as though to say more, but he shut it when Dani said, “Come on.”

Knowing enough not to argue, Malcolm sighed as he picked up his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. “Goodnight Gil,” he said, his voice hesitant yet resigned.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Gill assured, offering half a smile and a pat on the kid’s shoulder. He didn’t miss the wince Malcolm gave as he did that, but he let it slide. Both of them needed to decompress before anything else happened.

Gil waited until they were out of sight before he closed the door and sank into the couch which Malcolm had recently vacated. Rationally, he knew what had happened, but that didn’t stop the same thought from repeating itself - what the hell was that?

**oOo**

Dani talked the entire cab ride to Malcolm’s. At first she’d been silent, presumably to allow Malcolm time to readjust, but that hadn’t been what Malcolm needed and so he’d asked her to tell him what had happened. Her account was second-hand as she had been downstairs with Edrisa at the time, but it was detailed enough for the both of them to get the gist. Malcolm had listened in silence as she relayed all that had gone on, making sure not to show what he thought or felt as she did so.

Of those that have recently joined Malcolm’s circle, Dani was the one he was most comfortable with. From the beginning, she hadn’t judged him, hadn’t taken offense to anything he’d said or done, and had even checked in on him. She managed to balance a teasing nature with a caring one and he appreciated both sides equally. Still, letting her see how bothered he was by the scene at the precinct, on so many levels, was not something he was willing to do.

Much like the last time she accompanied him home on Gil’s orders, Dani followed him up to the loft’s door. Since Malcolm was perfectly able to handle things from here, he wasn’t sure why she was still with him, but he said nothing as he unlocked the door and let them both in, allowing Dani to enter before himself.

While Dani headed straight for the kitchen, Malcolm shut the door, putting his back to her. His gaze traveled down to his wrists and as he traced the familiar lines, he found himself going back to his first time in handcuffs. Long before he and his mother had determined it best from him to use the restraints, Malcolm had woken from a particularly bad night terror with both of his hands handcuffed to an unused radiator. He hadn’t known how long he’d been chained, but the dried blood on his wrists told him how hard he’d fought against them. It had taken a moment for him to spot his mother sitting on the opposite side of the room, but when he did, his heart had sunk. Even in the dim sunrise, Malcolm had been able to spot the bruised eye, the fear on her face as she had looked at him had making him sick.

“So what’s her name?”

Having forgotten for a moment that anyone was with him, Malcolm minutely jumped in surprise. Clenching his hand when it started to shake, he turned around to face his guest. Her expression hinted that it was taking him too long to answer her so he said, “I’m sorry, I was lost in my own world. What did you ask?”

“What’s the bird’s name?”

“Uh, you know, I don’t know if I’ve ever officially named her,” Malcolm answered. The truth of the matter was that his mind was still so focused on the events of his past and the repeat of them earlier that he couldn’t quiet recall what he’d named the parakeet.

“Right,” Dani said, her voice indicating her clear disbelief. Placing her hands on either side of the stovetop, she leaned on the counter. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Under the sink,” he automatically answered, adding, “Why?”

“Because I’ve been instructed to check on your wrists and that’s what I’m going to do,” she said, her voice slightly muffled as she bent down to grab the kit.

“You know, you could just leave and tell Gil that you did it. You don’t actually have to do it,” he encouraged, not wanting to be rude, but also wishing to be left alone. “I promise I won’t tell.”

“No, because with your luck, something will happen after I’m gone and what first seems like insignificant marks will become far worse by the time you see Gil again.” Grabbing the kit, Dani walked around the island, completely ignoring the parakeet, and coming to stand in front of him. “I’d rather take my chances with you than with Gil, so sit down and let me take a look.”

Malcolm tried resisting, refusing to move in the direction which she pointed, but he soon found that wasn’t going to work as Dani was apparently just as stubborn as Ainsley was. When she saw he had no intention of following her directions, she gave him a gentle nudge towards the bed, the action bringing a wince to his face as pain shot through his shoulder.

“What was that?” she asked, not missing the reaction.

Not needing another thing for her to focus on, Malcolm did his best to dismiss her concern. “It’s nothing. My shoulder’s a little sore, that’s all.”

“Mhmm,” she answered, kneeling in front of him and placing the kit on the floor next to her. “You know, I don’t remember your shoulder being sore during the case,” she prompted as she gently took his left hand into hers.

Sensing a trap of some sort, Malcolm didn’t respond to that. For a few minutes he tracked everything she did while touching him - the way she carefully rotated his arm so she could see the full extent of the wounds, the way she took her time inspecting them, the way her brows furrowed as she did all this - but then his mind once again began to wander.

At first he sees his mom, sitting on the floor with a tear in her very expensive nightgown and her left eye swelling. It took days for her not to jump when he got close to her, and though he knew she didn’t blame him, the idea that she was scared of him broke him. To this day, he still didn’t like getting to close to her for fear of her reaction.

Then the images changed and his nightmares mix with his reality. At first it’s just Gil, standing before him with the black eye that Malcolm had given him. In this view, Malcolm can see the pain that Gil is feeling, even though at the time he hadn’t. It was entirely possible that his mind was adding that out of guilt, but he couldn’t be sure so he chose to leave the memory as it was. Then it suddenly changed again, and Malcolm was in one of the rooms in the basement, his father by his side. Malcolm isn’t a little boy this time, he’s an adult and on the table it Gil and not some woman. The fear mingled with acceptance in the older man’s eyes broke Malcolm’s heart and he felt pain in his right hand as he gripped the knife blade rather than the handle. As his blood began to drip onto the stone floor, his father’s voice whispered in his ear, “Remember, we’re the same.”

Pain, strong but brief, sparked in his shoulder, bringing Malcolm back to the present, his gasp a reaction that he couldn’t control.

“Sorry,” Dani apologized, concern in her eyes. “Nothing else was getting your attention.” Having raised herself up to be more even with him, she now lowered herself back down, giving him space without going far. “Where did you go just now?”

“Nowhere,” Malcolm dismissed, _really _not wanting to go into it with her. “Must not have heard you, that’s all.”

“That doesn’t explain why you were crying,” she countered unconvinced. “Spill.”

Malcolm hadn’t realized he’d been crying, but it didn’t surprise him. He opened his mouth to do just that, to confide in her, but something held him back. Sighing, he said, “I can’t.”

Whether it was because she saw that she couldn’t change his mind, or because she saw how much of a struggle it was for him to even say that, Malcolm didn’t know, but either way, Dani didn’t push. Surprisingly, she didn’t look offended by his denial either; Malcolm was so used to meeting with annoyance whenever he refused to let someone in that he found himself totally confused by her lack of it.

“Okay,” she said, shrugging. “Well, for once you were right. There wasn’t much I needed to do for your wrists. I applied a bit of antibiotic ointment and some gauze, which should help keep the scratches from getting irritated while you sleep, but that was it. I recommend some ice for your shoulder because it’s not going to feel any better after a night in restraints, but other than that, I’m done.”

“Thank you,” he said, grateful in more than one way.

She nodded, throwing her jacket over her arm. “Anytime,” she said, looking like she truly meant it. Hesitating briefly she added, “Just so you know. I’m here if you want to talk.”

Knowing that meant, _I’m here when you’re ready to let me in,_Malcolm smiled, hoping his gratitude shone through. “Thank you,” he said again.

She nodded once again then left, allowing Malcolm to be alone with his nightmares in peace.

**oOo**

Sunrise the next day found Gil waking up at his usual time. After having taken the night to reconcile himself with what had happened, he was now ready to make sure the kid didn’t stuck in his own head about it. The faster he could help the kid through this, the better for all of them.

As Gil made his first cup of coffee of the day, he thought back to last night. Having some paperwork to finish up with, he had still been at the precinct when Dani had come back. He watched as she strode right up to JT, who had hung around for some unknown reason, and smacked him right upside the head. Gil hadn’t been able to hear what was being said, but it was obvious that Dani was angry with him. As per his usual, JT took her anger in stride, holding up his hands in surrender and mumbling something that clearly hadn’t helped as Dani had proceeded to smack him upside the head a second time before walking away.

Once he’d been sure she was finished, Gil had called Dani into his office, her worried expression telling him all he really needed to know. Still, he’d asked her how Malcolm was, and though her answer wasn’t reassuring, it also hadn’t come as any sort of surprise. What the kid was specifically torturing himself about, Gil couldn’t guess so he’d decided to visit the next morning.

Which was why he was now letting himself into Malcolm’s building with the key the kid had given him when he’d changed the locks. Strictly speaking the set of keys he’d been given had been for emergencies only, but Gil ignored that clause in favor of checking on his son. Hoping he wasn’t about to disturb what little sleep Malcolm got, Gil knocked on the door. He waited a full five minutes before knocking a second time, but when that went unanswered as well, Gil, with worry curdling his stomach, let himself into the kid’s loft.

Malcom’s place was immaculate as always, everything in its proper place, not a thing randomly strewn about. For the most part, it represented the facade the kid himself presented when out in public - perfectly styled, calm demeanor in place. But all one had to do was really look at Malcolm to know that it was all just a front. Gil had honed that skill over 20 years; Dani, it seemed, was a much quicker study.

The parakeet, Sunshine he thought its name was, chirped cheerily when he entered, barely taking notice of his intrusion. As far as pets go, it wasn’t a very useful one, but Gil knew the kid could never have a dog and he was allergic to cats. Thrashing in the bed to his right immediately grabbed Gil’s attention. After placing the food he’d brought to make breakfast on the edge of the kitchen island, he went to Malcolm, making sure to keep his distance just in case.

With the mouthguard in place, Malcolm couldn’t talk in his sleep like he’d done last night, but his distress was clearly evident in the sounds he kept making in the back of his throat and the way he kept struggling against the restraints. His legs kicked wildly, making Gil glad he’d decided to stay back since he’d probably have quite a few new bruises if he hadn’t.

Malcolm thrashed again, the leather of the restraints creaking from the strain. He pulled, clearly trying to get free and Gil winced as he caught sight of the black straps around the kid’s seemingly-thin arms. Ever since he’d found out about the way Malcolm sleeps, Gil had hated it. Up until last night he hadn’t even thought it necessary to restrain the kid, but he no longer believed that. It didn’t change his hatred for them, but it did nudge him towards accepting their validity. 

“Bright,” Gil said, hoping yet doubting that his voice would break through whatever nightmare the kid was stuck in. “Kid, wake up.” He couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed to Gil that Malcolm became even more agitated when he spoke. As a tear leaked out of Malcolm’s tightly squeezed eye, Gil got closer, bruises be damned, and tried again. “Come on, kid,” he said, laying a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder to gently shake him. “It’s just a dream, Bright. Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real.”

After a couple more minutes of him struggling, Malcolm came awake with a muffled scream that made the veins in his neck pop out. It took another couple more minutes for him to orient himself to his surroundings, and during that time, Gil backed off, seemingly not paying attention to the man in the bed. When Gil heard Malcolm groan in pain, however, he quit pretending and went to him. “Kid, you okay?”

Malcolm nodded, pivoting enough to spit the mouthguard out, then groaned again. “Dani was right,” he said, the statement throwing Gil for a loop.

“Come again?”

“Dani was right,” Malcolm reiterated, releasing the restraints and slowly moving his arms, black cuffs still on his wrists, closer to his body. The process appeared to be easier on the kid’s right side than his left and that was when it clicked. “The restraints did not do my shoulder any favors.” Gil backed up so that Malcom, tucking his left arm close to his body, could roll to a sitting position then stand. It was then that Gil’s presence finally registered with the kid because his brows furrowed and he asked, “Why are you here, Gil?”

“I thought you could use something to eat,” Gil answered, now giving the kid some space. Assuming that Malcolm would follow him, Gil went into the kitchen, grabbing the back of food he’d brought with him and sliding it closer to the stovetop. Not being familiar with Malcolm’s organizational system, Gil settled for rummaging around in the cupboards until he found the things he needed.

“You came over here at eight in the morning to cook me breakfast?” Malcolm said, his tone implying his doubt. “Come on, Gil. What are you really doing here?”

“Since you know so much, why don’t you tell me?” Gil returned as he began filling the kettle for the coffee press. Once he had that going, he began washing the vegetables and prepping the eggs. Over the course of the past two decades, Gil had taken care to note one vital piece of information about Malcolm Bright - in spite of his side comments about his aversion to food, the kid could never resist one of his omelettes. Oh sure, there had been many other things that Gil had learned about Malcolm over the years, but that was one fact that he took special pride in.

“You came to talk about last night,” Malcolm surmised, sounding resigned to a talk he didn’t want to have. “Gil, I am so sorry for what happened.”

“Hold on,” Gil interrupted, not liking where the kid’s mind was at. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about. I don’t blame you for anything.”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You don’t?” he asked, though he made it sound more like a statement.

Setting the diced tomatoes aside, Gil started on the peppers. “No, look, the only thing that bothers me about last night has nothing to do with you.” No, if he’d had his way, Gil would have had the unis assigned to the crappiest job he could find and JT would be writing a formal apology. He couldn’t look at it from a father’s standpoint, though, he had to do it from a cop’s and from where they were standing, they made the right call. Setting the knife down before he ended up accidentally cutting himself, Gil let out a sigh. “I’m worried, kid. What happened after you got home?”

“Dani told you about that, huh?”

“Did you think she wouldn’t?” The kid quietly laughed, which Gil took for his answer; they both knew Dani was too loyal not to tell Gil. “She’s worried about you, Bright.”

Malcolm sighed, his eyes trained on Gil. “She shouldn’t be. I’m fine.”

Rather than argue with that statement, Gil choice to point out the obvious. “Something’s bothering you, kid. What is it?”

The silence that followed that question stretched out so long that Gil was sure the kid wasn’t going to answer him. After a couple of minutes spent watching Malcolm try to hide his shaking hand, Gil went back to making their breakfast. Sometime during their conversation, the kettle had gone off and Gil had added the boiling water to the coffee grounds. He now took a moment to pour them both a mug of dark coffee, doing his best to give the kid time to decide what he wanted to say.

Gil had just started frying up the eggs when the kid spoke. “Do you remember when you thought I’d tried to cut my wrists?”

Gil froze, his heart stuttering a step. Yes, he remembered. It was shortly before Jackie had been diagnosed. Gil had been a mess trying to figure out what was wrong with his wife, trying to take care of her, and working; he’d been exhausted, worried, and at his rope’s end. One day Malcolm had stopped by for a visit, the scared puppy dog look more haunting than normal, but he hadn’t said a word about what was going on with him. It hadn’t been until Gil was escorting him out and had seen the bandages on the kid’s wrists that the subject even came up.Gil hadn’t been able to stop the thoughts that had raced through his mind and he’d said them all to the kid, refusing to believe Malcolm when he said he hadn’t tried to cut himself. It was not his finest moment, to be sure, and Gil had spent a great deal of time worrying that he’d pushed Malcolm away that day.

Doing his best not to show how that day still affected him, Gil continued cooking. “Yeah, I remember,” he answered, unable to prevent how hoarse he sounded. Refusing to be the one shaking, Gil kept busy, adding the tomatoes, peppers, spinach, and cheese to the pan then folding the eggs over them. “You told me you hadn’t tried to hurt yourself and I didn’t believe you.”

“Gil, it’s fine,” Malcolm assured, apparently reading Gil’s emotions in his voice. “It’s over. We moved on.” And they had. It had taken time, Gil’s constant regret driving Malcolm crazy, but they had moved past it. “I never told you what really happened.”

Gil plated the food, placing one in front of Malcolm, who hadn’t really moved from his stool, and one in front of himself, a mug of company beside each plate. “Probably because you didn’t think I’d believe you.”

“No,” Malcolm answered definitively. “No, it was because you had enough going on in your life. You didn’t need me adding to it.” Gil felt his heart sink a little at that, he never wanted the kid to feel that way, but when he opened his mouth to say anything, Malcolm held up his hand to stall him. “I know you wouldn’t have felt that way, don’t worry. I also didn’t know how to bring it up.” The kid drew in an unsteady breath, both of his hands now freely shaking. “The night before I visited, I experienced a night terror. This one was worse than the others and I,” he paused, his exhale shaky as his emotions seeped through, “I hit my mother.” Gil stilled, knowing there was more to the story, but surprised all the same. “I had no idea I was doing it, of course, but I hit her. Her idea for making sure I didn’t do it again was to handcuff me to the radiator.” The kid fingered his wrists, apparently remembering wounds that were no longer there. “I guess I struggled.” He gave a flat smile, coming back to the present. “The bandages weren’t hiding self-made cuts; they were hiding the cuts and bruises I’d created while trying to get free.”

“Which was why you reacted the way you did when JT handcuffed you,” Gil surmised, feeling so many things and not knowing which to act on. “Because a part of you remembered that experience and fought against it happening again.”

“Something like that,” Malcolm dryly answered. He inhaled deeply, seeming to brush aside memories he’d rather not dwell in, and picked up his fork. “Thanks for cooking. You didn’t have to.”

“Someone’s gotta make sure you eat,” Gil retorted, finishing off his own food. Turning around, he placed the plate in the sink, then refilled his coffee. “How’s your shoulder?”

Malcolm shrugged, careful to make it a one armed shrug. “It’s fine.” 

Rolling his eyes, Gil set his coffee down and reached into the freezer. Malcolm Bright was a minimalist at best; he didn’t like clutter and he didn’t see the need to keep things for no reason. When it came to food, he was no different. His cupboards were sparse to the point of bare at times, his refrigerator no less so, but he could usually be counted on to keep a bag of peas or something in the freezer for when he needed a makeshift ice pack.

After grabbing the bag, Gil walked around the island and gently placed it on the kid’s shoulder. Even though Gil knew Malcolm had been paying attention to his every move, he still jumped when the bag touched him, inhaling sharply at the cold. Gil held the ice pack still while the kid finished eating then switched, allowing Malcolm to hold onto the bag of peas while he grabbed the empty plate and placed it in the sink.

“Keep it there,” he instructed as he started cleaning up. When he didn’t receive any objection, Gil turned around and found the kid staring down at his lap with a haunted expression paling his face. “What’s going on, kid?” he asked, his heart breaking at seeing Malcolm so upset.

Tossing the bag of peas onto the island, Malcolm sighed. “My nightmares of late have been different,” he announced, still not looking at Gil. On the counter, his hands fiddle with the mug of coffee, his right one shaking infinitely more than normal. “I’m in a separate part of the basement with my dad, and there’s a girl strapped to a table. As I stand before her, my father puts a knife in my hand and tells me that I know what to do.” Gil felt his heart skip a beat, but remained silent, letting the kid get his thoughts out. “Last night, it changed. Instead of the girl on the table, it was you.” The shaking in his hands increased and it took everything Gil had not to reach out to him. Malcolm’s eyes met Gil’s and Gil was surprised to find anger in them. “You looked at me with fear, but also with acceptance, like you were resigned to what was going to happen and you were forgiving me for it.”

Gil didn’t know what to say to that. No, that wasn’t true, he could think of a couple different things to say, but he didn’t think either one would help so he said nothing. He sighed, keeping his attention on Malcolm in case there was more coming. When the kid lowered his head, his hands clenching the mug, Gil couldn’t take it anymore. He walked around the island and pulled the kid in for a hug.

At first, Malcolm remained stiff, refusing the comfort Gil was offering, but then he relaxed, leaning into Gil with all of his not-substantial weight. Shifting so that he could support both of them, Gil tightened the hug, loosening his grip when Malcolm’s quick intake of breath reminded him that the kid’s shoulder was still hurting. “I know this doesn’t help,” he said, running his left hand down the back of Malcolm’s head and leaving it to rest on his neck, “but I know that you wouldn’t willingly hurt me, kid.”

“How can you be so sure?” Malcolm asked, his body tensing as he started to panic. He pulled away, standing up and heading towards the staircase. “How can you be _so sure _that I wouldn’t hurt you? I don’t even know what I’m capable of anymore. How can _you_ be?”

Sensing there was more to the question than the kid simply needing reassurance, Gil took his time with answering. He watched Malcolm as he started pacing in agitation, his right hand shaking once more. A part of Gil realized that he had started this, that his words, rather than reassuring the kid, had made him begin to worry again, but the other part knew that these thoughts would have been going through Malcolm’s head without Gil having said a word. It was better for Malcolm to get this off his chest now rather than stewing on them.

“You’re right,” he conceded, folding his arms over his chest, “I don’t know for sure that you wouldn’t.” That made the kid stop, his expression one of outright surprise. Hurt quickly replaced the surprise, though, his eyes glazing as tears came to them. “I’ve seen what you can be like when your father gets inside your head,” Gil defended, holding up a hand to forestall anything the kid might try to say. “And it worries me to see it starting again. But I trust you, Bright. I always have and I always will.”

Malcolm’s eyes tracked to Gil’s bruised cheek. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Tell you what,” Gil said as he went back to the sink. “You try to get over the fact that you punched me when you weren’t even conscious of what you were doing, and I’ll try to get over the fact that my men hurt you. Deal?”

“I’d assaulted an officer, Gil,” Malcolm began to excuse. “They had every right to handcuff me.”

Although Gil knew the kid was right, he found he couldn’t agree so easily. Even if the officers didn’t know what was going on, JT did and could have easily restrained Malcolm without using force. Ignoring Malcolm’s rational explanation, Gil said, “Do we have a deal?”

There was a sigh and a slight chuckle behind him. “Deal,” Malcolm agreed.

“Good, now, if your shoulder isn’t too sore, get over here and help me with the dishes.”

“I think I can handle that,” Malcolm answered, stepping up to Gil’s left and beginning to dry while Gil continued to wash.

They cleaned up in silence, not feeling the need to say anything more. Nothing was going to be fully solved in one morning, no, it would take time to get past the events of the past 24 hours, but even as he left, Gil could tell that it had been a good idea to hash things out sooner rather than later. Malcolm Bright was always going to look haunted by his past, but at least Gil could make sure that none of the kid’s nightmares included him.

** _Fin_ **


End file.
